


Yearning

by Natterina



Series: Soulmarked [1]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Brief mentions of Axel/Roxas, Implied Demyx/Zexion, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Terraqua if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 18:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10254446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natterina/pseuds/Natterina
Summary: Riku is fourteen when Sora gets his Soulmark, one year and three months before the Destiny Islands fall to the darkness.AU, where Sora gets his Soulmark first, and misunderstandings abound when jealousy rears its ugly head.





	

The Soulmarks come in during puberty. They can appear at any point during those defining years, and one half can receive them well before the other. They manifest in between the lines of the wrist, a first name in the other's handwriting, as white as a fresh scar with a searing pain as it is burned into the flesh. On death, they go black. The six apprentices of Ansem the Wise discover a third colour, a deep midnight blue that denotes excessive amounts of darkness in a heart, but the darkness swallows them whole long before that research is published.

Outside of this, no one knows much else about the marks. They are a source of speculation from the Olympus Coliseum to Wonderland, from Atlantica to Agrabah, but no one can really prove any theories outside of what is known for certain. Most of the worlds begin to refer to them as Names, finding it a better representation of what actually appears.

Riku is fourteen when Sora gets his Soulmark, one year and three months before the Destiny Islands fall to the darkness.

They are walking along the beach, enjoying the sunshine and the cool mist from the ocean, when Sora brings it up. They smell of sun cream and sand and sweat, and they hold their practice swords loosely in their hands to trail a track across the sand. Sora is nervous, twitching at every crash of the ocean waves and tweet from the throat of the birds.

"Come on, out with it." Riku says it with a long-suffering sigh, and Sora looks up in confusion.

"Wh-what?"

"Something's bugging you. Out with it, before I thrash you into next Tuesday."

Sora sticks his tongue out in protest, and Riku laughs in delight at the sight. It gives Sora time to think, and once he's done he finally speaks again.

"I got my Name last night."

Something in Riku's demeanour changes, shifts into a moodier tone, and the silver haired boy tries to speak nonchalantly.

"Oh? And?"

"Do you... do you have yours yet?"

And Riku is so wrapped up in his dark approaching thoughts that he completely misses the verbal cue, misses how Sora is looking at him in some sort of half veiled hope as he holds his left wrist in his other hand. His first thought is that Sora's Name is someone else: if it were _him_ , Sora would have said so outright, surely.

"Yeah, I do."

Riku does not. But, Riku has been desperately in love with Sora since they'd been old enough to row to the island together. He has dreamed and dreaded the moment that one of them got their Names, eternally fearful lest he get a name other than Sora. He does not want any other: the only one he wishes to love is beside him now, deflating before him even as Riku stands unaware.

Because Sora had woken up last night screaming into the darkness of his bedroom as the name 'Riku' was seared into his wrist. He had held his wrist close to his heart all evening, giddy with joy because if his wrist read Riku then Riku must have his name! Except Riku, standing there proudly and saying he has a Name without any reaction towards Sora whatsoever makes Sora think that perhaps this time something is wrong. Perhaps Riku has a Name which is not 'Sora', and this means that Sora is paired with another boy with the same name as the one he is so desperate to love. He deflates, because he loves Riku, and perhaps they're really not meant to be.

Sora’s not sure how to deal with that.

Riku, on the other hand, cannot take back his lie now. And he is scared and terrified, because Sora clearly has a Name on his wrist that he does not recognise, and this means that Riku must face the reality that the boy he loves is not his to love at all, and this makes him bitter beyond reason. He doesn't want anyone else: he wants Sora, but if they are not meant for one another then there is quite literally nothing he can do.

Sora's shoulders slump beside him, and Riku continues to walk along the beach. Sora runs his fingers over the raised skin on his wrist with fear and uncertainty, and the pain of unrequited love.

It is a miscommunication that sets them on the path they walk. Sora becomes convinced that either Riku is his name and does not want to be, or he is paired with a different Riku, one he does not love. And Riku? Well, as far as Riku is convinced he needs no name to be hopelessly in love with someone, but he is bitter at the idea that Sora has gained his name and it is not him.

And if, from that day onwards, Sora begins to wear those fingerless gloves at all times, the ones that are long enough to comfortably cover his wrist, Riku pretends not to notice. He does not even begin to try and ponder why.

* * *

That small misunderstanding is what sends them towards the destruction they will wreak upon one another. Sora, heartbroken, will allow Riku and his bitterness to warp their friendship into the rivalry it is on the day Destiny Islands is destroyed.

Riku only adds the paopu to the race in order to get a rise out of Sora, to see if his flustered demeanour means he lets slip whose name is on his wrist. Because despite Sora having had his Name for a year, Riku's is yet to appear. And even though their friendship has turned into a rivalry, both boys are even more desperately in love with each other than they were before. Perhaps that should be a clue, but they are two teenagers who are not exactly known for their logic.

But Kairi knows about it, knows about the name on Sora’s wrist that points him to a boy she knows _clearly_ does not have his Name yet. She has bathed in the ocean with Riku, has seen the older boy tug off his gloves to show pale skin without a mark between the two lines of his wrist.

She has sat and watched them dance around each other for _years_ , and Kairi’s patience is wearing thin. She looks forward, truly, to the day when Riku’s Name comes in, and she can knock their heads together and say ‘ _I told you so.’_

That day will never come, for once the Islands are destroyed Kairi will disappear and spend the majority of the following months unconscious and unaware. Riku will examine her wrist one evening to find a name he does not recognise, _Ventus_ , and still will not come into his own Name.

* * *

Sora wakes one evening on the gummi ship, after a sleep filled with many strange dreams. He sees himself chasing Riku along a beach, the innocent face ahead smeared with sand and salt from the ocean.

He sees a blond haired boy sitting on a balcony, watching a dark haired man below show his wrist to a blue haired woman, only for him to take her in his arms and spin her around the gardens as her laughter rings out in the midnight air.

He sees Riku, one hand outstretched as the darkness swallows them both, and he reaches desperately for the older boy. He sees Riku standing there without a glove on his right hand, and the name _Sora_ burned into it in his chicken-scratch writing.

When he jolts up in the bed, fast enough and with enough noise that Donald rolls over half-conscious in the bunk next to him, his hands go to his wrist with an urgency he has not yet felt before.

They have seen Riku three times now: once in Traverse Town, once in _the thrice-damned whale_ , and in Neverland, when Sora was forced to stand there helpless as his best friend summoned a shadow-version of himself with the aim of letting it kill him. Betrayal is a bitter taste in his mouth, but when Sora looks down at his wrist he resists the urge to vomit all over the bedsheets.

There, in elegant handwriting pressed lightly into the skin, Riku’s name has turned midnight blue.

Sora initially thinks it has gone _black_ , and he panics so badly that Donald wakes up fully and comes to sit beside him on the bed, grumpy but sympathetic. He sets a light with his staff, and in the bright white light Sora can see that it’s not _black_ , not really, but a deep midnight blue that Sora is certain he was never told about in school.

If white means alive, and black means dead, what does midnight blue mean?

Sora feels his heart ache when he thinks of Riku, and he is certain he already knows. Somewhere out there, Riku has agreed to _something_ , and the darkness in his heart is pouring out enough to taint his soul.

But if Riku is letting the darkness in, and the Name is going blue, then that means that _Riku_ is the one on the other side of his soul, the boy whose Name is inscribed into his wrist and tattooed on his heart. He was wrong, when he assumed that it must have been some other Riku.

Sora frowns into his pillow, long after Donald has gone back to sleep, as another realisation hits him. Either Riku is his Name, but he is not Riku’s, or Riku is too disgusted by the idea that his best friend is his _Name_.

Sora’s relief dissipates into a sour moodiness as he thinks of it, thinks of Riku constantly covering his wrist and refusing to talk about it, and his heart struggles to deal with the idea that Riku simply does not want him.

He falls back asleep after two hours of overthinking and overanalysing something as simple and as complicated as a _word_. But he returns to awful dreams, of watching that blue haired woman standing in the very garden she had been whisked around in. But the castle has fallen to ruin, the blond boy lies unconscious at her feet, and she stares down at a midnight blue name on her wrist with the grief of someone who has truly lost _everything_.

Sora tries not to remember that dream.

* * *

Everything seems to happen so quickly that it is almost a blur.

One moment he is facing off against Riku at the top of Rising Falls, and the next he is fighting him in a large oval room full of pipes. He is swinging his keyblade with all of his strength, smacking it hard against Riku’s as they fight in a flurry of clanging metal and struggling grunts.

“Are you finished? Will you _come home_ now? I want my best friend back, I _need_ you!” Sora punctuates every sentence with another blow, but Riku keeps blocking, and Sora eventually tackles him to the floor.

And Riku lays beneath him, a cold sneer on his face even as regret dances in his eyes.

“It’s too late, Sora.”

And then Riku is fighting him again, before he disappears completely, and when Sora sees him again he shatters like a broken mirror, until Sora is looking at a grown man who is decidedly _not_ Riku.

But the Name is still a deep blue, and Sora holds out hope even as he leaves his other best friend in Traverse Town, fear still written across her face as she begs him to come home safely.

But it ends as it started, with Sora standing across from Riku with an impossible distance between them, only this time Riku is proposing to _lock himself inside the realm of darkness_ , and Sora has to wonder when their biggest problem went from ‘arguing over coconuts’ to ‘trying to dissuade the other from certain death’.

But Riku is adamant and stubborn and _right_ , someone does need to be on the other side to lock it, but Sora would _really_ prefer it not to be the boy he loves.

And Riku looks almost brighter, as though a huge weight of guilt that is laying on his shoulders is getting lighter somehow. In the light that the door emits, Riku is all pale skin and silver hair and toned muscles in contrast with the sheer _darkness_ behind him, and Sora wants to leap in the door after him to make sure his best friend does not have to do this alone.

Riku reaches a hand out, as the door is closing, and the hand passes through the barrier as it grips around Sora’s wrist. He laces their fingers together, and Sora looks up at Riku with hope in his eyes. The other boy’s teal eyes look sad and guilty, but Riku stands there with conviction on his features.

“Sora, I don’t have a name.”

“ _What?_ ” Sora looks up at him in disbelief, in anger at the fact that Riku is choosing _now_ of all times to tell him this, when they are not guaranteed to see each other again. The hand in his own tightens, and Sora wants to follow it.

“I don’t have a Name. I never had one. And I don’t need one, because it’s _always been you_.”

And then the hand in his own lets go and slips back through the door as it nearly closes. Riku’s eyes do not leave his own even as the gap is reduced to a crack, and the heavy door slams shut with a loud resounding bang that echoes through the air.

Sora could _cry_. It’s not fair, not fair at _all_ , and how could Riku leave him with such a confession before ensuring he did not have to face the consequences like that? Sora is left with a thousand questions: why did Riku lie, does this mean that Riku’s Name could be Sora? Does it mean that he _isn’t_ disgusted by the thought of his Name being Sora?

How on earth had this whole misunderstanding _happened_?

* * *

In the darkness that follows, as Sora is ambling along the path that will lead him, unknowingly, to the recreated wrecked castle from his dreams, Roxas exists in the in-between.

He sits in the library, slumped in a chair as Zexion carefully ties a skin-coloured ribbon around his wrist. One tap of his finger, and the ribbon blends in seamlessly with the rest of his skin, and it will take a good eye to see past the rudimentary illusion the slate-haired man has cast.

“Do _not_ take this off.” The man sounds bored, as though he has done this a thousand times already, as though Roxas is wasting his time despite Zexion being the one to usher him into the library in the first place.

Zexion returns to his book, his gloves carefully in place and no sign at all of the ribbon Roxas is aware is beneath them.

On Roxas’ wrist, the name _Lea_ is written in neat but inelegant handwriting, as though the owner was writing quickly and was in a hurry to get away. Roxas does not know what it means, only knows that he has been told to ignore it.

Zexion watches him go, one uncovered eye following him across the library, and the man contemplates on all the names he has had to cover up.

Axel’s had said _Roxas_ , which is an anomaly and a surprise, in hindsight. Demyx had _Ienzo_ in _white_ writing, whilst his own wrist held the name of Demyx’s Somebody. But the name on Zexion’s wrist is so black and stark against his skin that it is almost a bruise, and Zexion has not let the other man see it. And thankfully, Demyx has not figured out what Zexion’s original name is. He wonders what that means for them.

The rest of the Organisation, as nobodies, have the names of those they were originally fated to. Some have names blacker than the heartless themselves, whilst others still have white names that can offer comfort.

He does not know what Xemnas has. He had heard rumours, back when he was Ienzo, that Xehanort had _two_ names, one on his left wrist and one on his right. He had heard that one was blackened and aged, and the other a deep midnight blue just like the Names of Roxas and Demyx.

Whatever Xemnas has, no matter how true or false the rumours, Zexion has been ordered to help cover them all up. And so he does, and he does not explain the meaning of the Names to Roxas. It is kinder, to the boy who does not remember much, not to give him hope. Axel will never be Lea again, after all.

Zexion closes the book with an annoyed sigh, one that echoes out into the library. The Names had been so _simple_ , before darkness took his heart and suddenly they could be more than two colours, and one man could possess two.

He is curious, and he desperately wants to look at Lord Xemnas’ wrist, but the topic is forbidden in the Castle.

* * *

Long after the events in Castle Oblivion, when Sora’s memories are messed with and he comes to believe that the Name on his wrist reads Namine, even though when he runs his fingers over the indents in his skin the letters don’t fit what he sees, Riku sits alone in the room with the pod. They have just moved it to Twilight Town, after months of keeping it hidden in Castle Oblivion.

Namine is not present, having gone upstairs to the White Room to give herself a small break from the monumental task ahead of her. Riku sits on the floor, cross-legged as he leans back against the metal petal panes of the pod, and he occasionally speaks out loud to the room. He knows Sora cannot hear him, but without his best friend Riku quite _literally_ has no one to talk to about his day. So, sometimes, he comes in to the room and talks to Sora. It is therapeutic, in a strange sort of way, and it helps to drive home the cause that Riku is fighting for.

Some of his memories of Sora are still patchy, and though Riku _knows_ all of his memories with Sora and what they entail, he cannot _remember_ them all at will.

So he sits there, relaying one of the arguments DiZ got into with Namine over the progress of waking him up, and briefly ranting about one of his encounters with a member of Organization XIII. He is sitting there, entirely unaware, when his wrist starts to burn.

The burn quickly turns into a searing agony that has Riku curled in on himself. He falls sideways to the floor and pulls his right wrist to his chest, all but screaming in pain as it feels like a hot iron brand is being pressed into his skin. Riku can feel every letter as it comes in, can feel the curve of the first two letters as the sensation turns into something akin to a hot knife carving out his flesh.

A whimper leaves his lips as the pain increases, setting his blood aflame and making his throat feel like sand as he groans, the sound coming from deep within his chest. Two more letters carve and burn their way into his skin when, as quickly as it started, the pain disappears. It feels as though his hand has been plunged into a bucket of ice water, and Riku can feel sweat dripping down his neck behind his ears.

He lays there for a minute or two, wrist still clutched to his chest with his other hand wrapped tightly around it. He is too scared to move, too scared to remove his glove and look down at the Name on his wrist. Because it will not be who he really _wants_ it to be, and Riku can’t bear the truth that he is destined for someone other than Sora.

Riku pulls himself together after a few breathless pants that could be considered him hyperventilating, because even though he is alone in the room with Sora he needs to at least _pretend_ that he has some dignity left. He crawls back to a sitting position and leans against the pod as before, only this time his legs are bent at the knees as he hugs them to his chest. Tears prick at the corner of his eyes, but Riku takes a shaky breath and turns his arm so he is looking directly at his wrist. He does it quickly, rips off the glove like a band-aid and hesitantly looks at the Name on his wrist.

And then he drops the glove.

And then he scrambles to his feet, his breath leaving him in a loud and sharp gasp that echoes around the room.

Because there, in bright white letters like a brand new scar, with the skin around it pink and blotchy, is the Name _Sora_.

Riku stares at it, feeling his heartbeat drumming against his ribcage and hearing it pounding in his ears, because _what_.

He runs the fingers of his other hand over it, pulling the glove off with his teeth, and he lets out a small laugh that is almost pathetic with the amount of utter _relief_ it holds. The writing is practically chicken-scratch: the ‘S’ is far bigger than the other three letters, and the marks are _deep_ , because Sora does not write on paper; he _carves_. He presses deep enough to snap pencil lead and ensures his letters are always separate, but Riku presses his closed fist to his lips and _laughs_ because the writing is so clearly Sora’s. There is no doubt it belongs to his best friend and the boy he has loved since he was old enough to _row_.

Something clicks in Riku’s mind, however, because if his Name says _Sora_ , then that must mean- _oh no_.

He rushes to the computer, feeling sick to his stomach. Had he misinterpreted that moment, so long ago, when Sora had told him his Name had appeared? He had assumed automatically that Sora had a Name that was not _Riku_ , and his jealousy for that had definitely played a large part in Maleficent being able to manipulate him so well. It had played a huge part in his self-righteous fury, and had led him and Sora down the path where Riku became the enemy, and not the best friend he should have been.

Riku will kick himself into the next world if his suspicion turns out to be true, and he quickly changes the settings on the computer so that the pod opens out, blooms with all the panels opened so that Sora looks like he is sitting in the bud of a flower. Once the mechanical whirring has stopped, Riku approaches the pod with an urgency he cannot hold back.

For a moment or so, he simply looks up at Sora. He has grown an inch or two since he was put in there, and Riku knows he will likely add another inch or two again before he wakes up. He is still breathtakingly beautiful to Riku, and the older boy looks sadly up at gravity-defying hair, missing the sight of sky-blue eyes. He misses Sora’s smile, that bright sunny thing that could light up a room and chase away the shadows in Riku’s heart.

Sora will not wake up at being touched, he has no fear of that, but a part of him tells himself that he is no longer worthy to even be _near_ Sora after all he has done. Riku pushes that part down, and gently reaches up for Sora’s left hand. He knows that is where the Name is, from the amount of times he would catch Sora rubbing at it absentmindedly. From the amount of times he would glare at Sora and tell him to hurry up and come back to the present, for he believed the Name to be someone else.

Gently, he unstraps the Velcro on Sora’s glove and pulls it off. Riku holds his breath, not daring to even breathe, as he turns Sora’s hand until he can see the wrist.

And there, right there in plain sight, is Riku’s name, in Riku’s handwriting. The ‘R’ is elegant and loops into the ‘I’, with the rest of the letters following in cursive. Riku is a fast and neat writer, his pen barely touching the paper, and so the Name on Sora’s wrist is stark white but _not_ deep, and Riku stares at it feeling like a fish out of water.

He is fairly certain that, if he had eaten at all in the last day, he would be expunging the contents of his stomach right about now. Wave after wave of guilt crash into him, but still he is impossibly happy and relieved. He _loves_ Sora, and even after all their misunderstandings he finally can see that he belongs _to Sora_. They have always been two sides of the same coin, cut from the same cloth, never one without the other, and Riku has lived in constant fear of his Name not being Sora since he was _six_.

Riku reaches out with the hand not holding Sora, and gently presses his fingertips to the Name. He feels a small tingle in his other wrist and, curious, swaps his hands around and presses it again with the fingers of his right hand. This time, the tingle is far more of a jolt, and Riku wonders if _this_ is how people are supposed to truly identify their Name. He does not dare to press the Names together, uncertain if that really _could_ awaken Sora, and so Riku instead presses one gentle kiss to Sora’s wrist before he slips the glove back on. He does not tie the Velcro across at the wrist, reluctantly stepping back from the pod and returning to the computer to bring the petal panels back up.

Riku will spend many hours over the rest of the year in that room, one hand running over his wrist and repeatedly tracing the deep scar. He will return there after every encounter with the darkness, after every time he feels himself slipping further into it, shrugging into the darkness like a well-worn coat.

He will return, the morning of Sora’s awakening, _just_ to be certain everything goes to plan. He will open the pod once Roxas is gone, and press a gentle kiss to Sora’s forehead before fleeing into a Corridor of Darkness as Donald and Goofy approach the door.

And he will cherish those two stolen kisses, for he will aim to never see Sora again for as long as his face and his body belong to Ansem.

* * *

They cannot avoid each other forever, and Riku becomes so lost in the million and one tasks he must complete that he arrives at the Land of Dragons roughly an hour before Sora.

He has lost track of things, what with keeping an eye on an increasingly-fearless Kairi (to the horror of his fraying nerves), and trying to keep Namine safe whilst still making sure Sora is heading in the right direction. He has completely lost track of Pluto, though he need only check a computer to find the tracer and microphone in the dog’s collar, but Riku still cringes at the thought of telling Mickey that no, he’s not actually sure where he’s lost the King’s dog. Last he checked, the dog was in Traverse Town, though _how_ he got there Riku cannot say.

Riku’s not giving him any treats for failing to stay in the Castle That Never Was, however. The damned dog had _one_ job.

And so Riku is standing at the top of the mountain pass, looking over at the _huge_ swarm of approaching heartless and thinking _fuck no_ , when he hears completely-impractical trainers crunching on the snow.

He turns slowly, hood still up, and comes face-to-face with Sora. He holds his keyblade in his hand, and his deep blue eyes look up at Riku in half-irritation, half curiosity. And there, Riku finds an opportunity to _not_ have to battle a horde of heartless for once.

Riku engages Sora in battle on the mountain top only so he can assess whether Sora is able enough to fight the incoming droves of heartless, or if he needs to remain with the younger boy. The brief battle goes fairly slowly, with Riku more defensive than offensive, but still with enough aggression to keep Sora on his toes.

But when he plans to disarm Sora and flee down the path, Sora summons the keyblade back into his hand before it even hits the snow, and continues fighting with renewed vigour. His attacks are aggressive, and Riku can tell by the gritted teeth and narrowed brows that Sora has already encountered Organization XIII since he has awoken.

Riku blocks every blow, of course, but he is no longer willing to truly fight knowing that hundreds of heartless are, quite literally, coming over the side of the pass. Desperate, and with no other way to disarm his friend long enough to force him to pay attention to the cloud of glorified _bees_ heading their way, Riku leaps backwards and pulls off the leather glove on his right hand with his teeth. Sora hesitates, uncertain of what the black-clad man before him is up to. His next attack, a leaping strike, does not come down as hard as he intended.

Riku stands there, one arm outstretched, and Sora's eyes hone in on it as he comes down, missing his strike completely. Riku’s right hand slides up his left forearm and tightens at the elbow, and Sora drops the keyblade in his other hand as Riku yanks him down the rest of the way, gripping him in a vice-like hold. He uses the momentum to pull Sora's arm against his chest and spin the boy around until Sora loses his footing, and he deftly unstraps the glove on the hand pressed into his stomach. Sora, stumbling, tries to move around Riku, but the older man slides a cool hand down Sora's arm and laces their fingers together. The Names on their wrists press together, and the shock is instant.

It is like a jolt of electricity racing up their arms: the heat radiates from the Names, and Sora stumbles into the snow as his wrist tingles in the aftershock. They both feel as though their blood is on fire at the contact, and Sora's eyes widen to the size of dinner plates as he stares up at Riku from his seat in the snow.

It is over in seconds: Riku gives Sora's hand a brief squeeze before he lets go, and by the time that Sora has calmed his heartbeat the heartless are already upon him.

* * *

Riku waits in the clearing further down the mountain, even though he knows he should not, just so that he can be certain that Sora pulls through the battle.

He does, of course, and twenty minutes later he hears harsh breathing and the fast crunch of snow as Sora runs down the mountain path. He slides to a stop when he sees Riku leaning against the outcropping.

"Is it really you?"

Riku does not answer, and Sora takes a step forward with frustration clear on his face. He is not completely certain that Riku is who stands before him: the hooded man is taller and broader than he remembers, but Sora reminds himself that he has spent nearly the entirety of the last year asleep. Even in the bright daylight, however, Sora can see nothing of the man's face aside from the brief outline of a nose, and he clenches his fists in irritation.

"Is it _you?_ " He takes another step forward, but the man leaning against the mountain straightens up instantly. Sora watches him pull the black leather glove back on, and he reaches a hand out towards him.

"Please, Riku. Don't... don't leave. Please, come back."

And Riku wants to give in to those pleading eyes, wants to grab the hand reached towards him and pull Sora close, but he cannot risk Sora pulling off his hood and _seeing_ him.

"I- I can't. I'm sorry." He chokes the words out in a whisper, not bothering to disguise his voice, and Sora's eyes grow wide again. He purses his lips, and then surges forward to grab the hooded man that he knows is his best friend. But Riku is prepared to flee and is much faster with his longer legs, and he is gone from Sora's sight in a blur of black against the snow.

Sora stops, one hand still reaching out for his best friend. He can still feel the tingle in his arm, radiating from the wrist, and though he is heartbroken to see his best friend flee from him like this, the reaction from their wrists simply touching makes him think that Riku has finally gained his name.

And his Name must read _Sora_.

He wonders what it looks like, wonders what Riku was doing when the pain started as the word was seared into his skin. He wonders how Riku knows that Sora's wrist reads _Riku_ in elegant writing, and then he turns scarlet when the realisation hits him that Riku _knows_.

But a part of his heart soars: Riku is alive and clearly well, even if he refuses to talk, and even though he could not see Riku's face he detected no trace of disgust in their interaction. If anything, Riku had sounded equally as heartbroken when he choked out his refusal.

Sora lowers his hand, smiling at the mountain path. Riku is okay, and he is clearly keeping an eye on him, and for now that is enough.

* * *

Their reunion is strange and delayed, with Riku refusing to go near Sora for the entirety of the time that he still wears Ansem’s face.

And Sora dare not touch him, dare not breach his personal space and the walls he has erected in case he ends up pushing Riku further away. So Sora keeps his distance, tells himself that there is a reason Riku is acting so distant, and he will not push where he is not welcome.

That reasoning all goes down the drain, however, when he is the first to his feet after the _real_ Ansem’s machine explodes, and Sora raises his head to see Riku lying face down on the floor.

And it is _Riku_.

Sora is at his side in a heartbeat, and he desperately shakes his best friend to try and wake him. He is about to roll him onto his side into the recovery position when Riku stirs, and Sora helps him to his feet gently. He stares up at the older boy, finding a face that is even more defined and less boyish than it was the last time he had seen him, and his hair is _so_ long that Sora wants to run his fingers through the strands of silver.

Slowly, and he can feel Riku’s breath catch as he does it, Sora reaches up his hands and slides them around the back of Riku’s head. He unties the blindfold slowly, and the feel of Riku’s breath blowing out slowly through his lips onto Sora’s nose only highlights the tension between them, pointing out how closely they are stood together. Sora moves a hand to the part of the fabric bunched over Riku’s nose, and he gently tugs at it until it is free from his hair.

It flutters to the floor, and Sora stares at bright teal eyes that bore into his own. There is a sadness in them, a guilt that clearly eats away at Riku’s soul, but underneath even that there is a flicker of _something_ , and Sora knows that this is a make or break it moment.

Seamlessly, he steps forward and wraps his arms tight around Riku, his hands going under the other man’s arms with his fingers digging into the back of the black leather coat. Riku gasps in surprise, hesitating briefly, before his own arms come up to wrap around Sora, and the two boys forget that there are others around them as they cling tightly to one another. Sora presses his face into Riku’s neck, and the older boy smells of wind and the outdoors; he feels Riku rest his chin on his head, and he blinks away tears that he can feel coming on again.

Because after everything, the weeks and months of searching for Riku since the day they left the Islands, _Riku_ is finally here. And yes, Riku is taller and broader and far more mature than he was the last time they saw each other _properly_ , and there is much he is going to need to work through, but Sora won’t focus on that now. All that matters is Riku is _here_ , with him, and _not pushing him away_.

Sora releases Riku, reluctantly, and the older boy unwinds his arms from around Sora’s torso. Uncaring of their audience, when Riku’s hand cups his face and runs a thumb over his cheekbones, Sora leans up and presses a gentle kiss to his lips. It is soft and sweet, a promise that they will _talk_ about this, and it is nothing at all like the urgent kisses and desperate gasps for air that Sora has dreamed of late into the night.

Distantly, he hears Donald splutter in surprise whilst Goofy chuckles, and in the centre of all that he hears _Kairi_ mutter an exasperated “ _finally._ ”

* * *

They all awaken in the laboratory at the same time: alarms ring, computers flash bright red warnings on large screens, and the thousands upon thousands of human-sized test tubes and capsules ring out high-pitched beeps to warn that they have been smashed.

But all five of them ignore it, in favour of looking down at their wrists.

Lea still has _Roxas_ , as he has always had since the day he turned fourteen. But where once the name was black (because Roxas had not even _existed_ until a year and a half ago, and then it turned blue because Roxas belonged to the _darkness_ , and then black again because he had joined with Sora), Lea stares down in astonishment at the white name on his wrist.

Dilan both takes a look at his wrist and then scoffs in disappointment. His Name is inky black and half-way to fading, the woman who it belonged to long gone to the beyond. Even takes one look at the white name on his wrist and shrugs, whilst Aeleus gives a begrudging soft smile at his own before he shakes himself back into his brooding-giant persona.

But Ienzo, he looks down at his wrist and sees the familiar dark blue name of Demyx’s Somebody. But this time it is not simply dark blue and stark against his skin: the patch of skin around it is a shocking purple bruise that creeps around his wrist and over into his palm. It is sore to the touch. Ienzo grips it carefully with his other hand, and all but storms over to Lea.

“What happened to Demyx?”

And Lea looks at him, the stoic boy who now has a fire in those deep eyes, the one who is clutching at his wrist and looking too small for his lab coat, and he smirks.

“Oho, you kept _that_ one quiet.” Lea whistles through his teeth, and continues. “Killed by Sora. Why? Isn’t it black?”

Ienzo uncovers his wrist, gritting his teeth against the pain. Lea’s eyes widen at the sight, and he prods at the part of the bruise on Ienzo’s hand. The slate-haired man hisses in pain.

“Oh _shit_. I don’t know what the hell that is. You sure you didn’t just land funny?”

Ienzo rolls his eyes, and glances at Lea’s own wrist.

“Fairly sure.”

“Ah. Well, _shit_.” Because Axel and Demyx had been close before Roxas came along, when Demyx had then spent quite a lot of his spare time sitting in the library trying to annoy Zexion, and the colour and bruising of Ienzo’s wrist cannot mean _anything_ good. And now they both have hearts again, and the tide of worry rising in both of them is unfamiliar and nausea-inducing.

“What are you going to do?” Ienzo’s voice cuts through the quiet silence between them, and Lea turns to look at him with one red eyebrow raised. Ienzo tuts. “About your _Name_ , idiot. I’m guessing it was dark blue even when he’d merged with the keyblade wielder. But now it’s white.”

Ienzo points to Lea’s wrist pointedly and the redhead, unusually, goes to hide it behind his coat.

“No. I’m not going to hope again, like some sort of pathetic kicked puppy.” Lea half murmurs the words with distaste clear on his face, and Ienzo shakes his head at Lea. There is a look in his eyes, a worry fraught with fear, followed by the desperate pushing down of his feelings because he has not had them in _so long_. It was easier not to care, when there were no hearts beating inside their chests.

“Then you are a fool.” Ienzo fixes the ruffled ascot around his neck, and Lea can see him struggling to use his hand without wincing. The slate haired man casts him one last look before he turns to leave the room, already casting an illusion spell on his wrist to hide the damage from the others.

Lea looks down at his own wrist, at the neat but separate letters spelling out _Roxas_ , and smiles.

* * *

“No, you’re not sitting with me again.”

Sora pauses, one hand on the white café chair, and cocks his head in question to Kairi. She’s sitting at a table in one of the cafés on the main island’s promenade, coffee in front of her and pink-framed shades resting comfortably on her face. Her notebook is open, burning in the light of the evening sun, but unlike her two best friends _she_ still has school-work to finish.

“Um…” Sora looks around, to be certain she is addressing him, and then sits down in the chair anyway. Kairi gives a groan of frustration. “Why can’t I sit here?”

She should be getting paid for this, Kairi decides.

“You know, I had a lovely chat with Riku last night, after you left us on the play island. Sora, I am a patient girl.” Her smile is sweet. “And I have spent _far_ too long watching you and Riku dance around each other. I knew you loved each other _before_ you got your Name. So imagine my surprise, Sora, after everything you two have been through, after I _watched you kiss_ in that castle, when I managed to get Riku to slip up and tell me that you two haven’t done anything other than spar and talk about the darkness since we got back.”

Sora winces, cringing on the inside, and wonders how she managed to get _that_ out of Riku. Getting Riku to open up about anything other than the crushing guilt in his soul and his fear of falling back into the darkness is akin to trying to get Xemnas to stop with his long monologues.

He gives a half-hearted, completely nervous laugh, and Kairi narrows her eyebrows.

“We’ve been really busy since we got back, Kairi, and...”

Sora trails off as Kairi rubs two fingers against her temples. The coffee on the table in front of them is separating in the glass mug, and Sora watches it to avoid her disappointed gaze.

"It's been a  _month_ , Sora!" Sora won't look up at her: Kairi is sickeningly sweet when she is irritated, but Sora would take that a thousand times if it meant never having to look at the downward tilt of her lips whenever he disappoints her.

“I don’t know what I’m s’posed to say to him…” Sora mumbles quietly, picking at the frayed edge of his jacket. Kairi heaves a long-suffering sigh, as though she has been sitting here giving him advice for years. And in a way, she has.

“Sora, I am not your agony aunt. I am not your matchmaker, nor am I your personal courier. It’s been a month: go and _get_ him!” Her smile is gentle and sweet, but there is an edge to her voice that tells Sora that his other best friend is quickly running out of patience. He guesses that he’s only a few days away from having a coconut thrown at his head.

And so Sora leaves her at the café, seeing his own reflection in the shades of her sunglasses looking forlorn, and heads over to the play island an hour earlier than usual.

Riku is already there, sitting on the large trunk of their tree and leaning backwards, holding himself in place with his hands. And despite what Kairi thinks, something has definitely changed between them, for when Sora approaches he reclines along the rest of the trunk and rests his head on Riku’s left thigh, and it doesn't feel odd or unusually tactile _at all_.

He can sense the frown on Riku’s face, before one hand comes down to rest on Sora’s head and the other drapes across his chest. His fingers thread through Sora’s hair, catching some of the strands in the strap of his fingerless glove, and Sora shifts to make himself more comfortable.

“You’re early.”

“Mm.” Sora hums into the air between them, and twists again so that he is on his back and looking up at Riku. The base of his palm rests on Sora’s forehead, his fingers moving gently along his scalp. “You’re not looking out into that ocean wanting to leave again, are you?”

The fingers moving in his hair stop, and Sora stares up at his face. He is beautiful, even from this angle. The mass of silver hair is pulled up into a band at the top of his head, but the long tail from it still sways in the breeze. His face is no longer the soft boyish one it was the day that Destiny Islands was destroyed; now his cheekbones and his jawline are all sharp angles. His eyes no longer shine with that childish innocence, or the superior arrogance that was mostly an act. Riku sighs after the silence between them, and his fingers begin moving again.

“I don’t want to _leave_. I’ve just… Sora, I spent the last year constantly on the move, and yeah it was hard, but…” He trails off, and frowns. “I’m just not doing anything here. I feel useless, I _am_ useless, all we do is just sit here and do nothing.”

And Sora can almost understand it. Whilst he is enjoying this rest period, where he can sleep through a full night without having to get up for a watch shift, where he can walk the street and not have his hand at the ready to summon the keyblade, he can understand the restlessness. Yeah, he’s spent a year asleep, but the six months on either side of that year had been full of non-stop movement, and he had _thrived_.

And he and Riku are the same, deep down. Two sides of the same coin, and they had both wished for that sense of adventure. Sora had not hesitated when he tried to reach for Riku’s hand the day the Islands were destroyed; he had simply not reached the older boy in time.

“No, I get what you mean.” Sora speaks quietly, and Riku only gives him a small smile before his gaze redirects to the sunset.

The silence settles between them again, comfortable, and Sora settles deep into thought. Perhaps this is why neither of them have actually _talked_ about the feelings between them: things are comfortable now, and bringing up _that_ means making a change, and that change may not be comfortable. Sora battles within himself for nearly ten minutes, Riku’s hand not leaving his head, before he takes a deep breath. Slowly, he reaches up and grabs Riku’s right hand, the one in his hair, and feels the other man tense up. Riku goes almost stock-still, and Sora does not tear his gaze away from the face above him.

“Let me see it. _Please_.”

And Riku looks down and to the side, teal eyes refusing to meet Sora’s own. Sora can see him swallow thickly, and he rubs a thumb along Riku’s fingers in encouragement.

“Once you see it… once you see it, Sora, you can’t go back. I’ve done so much to you, but you can still back away. You can still pretend you're not tied to me.” Sora can feel the tension in Riku’s hand, and can feel how tense Riku’s leg muscles have gone as he remains leaning against his thigh.

It is such a stark difference to the Riku of two years ago that Sora can barely breathe. If he had asked Riku to show him his Name back then, or tried to show Riku his own, he would have been brushed off with a sarcastic comment, as Riku would have sat there in all of his arrogance and self-certainty. It takes him a while to come up with a response that cannot be taken the wrong way.

“What if I don’t want to back away? We’ve been over this before, Riku. I don’t blame you for anything, even if you think I should. We were kids.”

Riku half-heartedly tries to pull his hand back, but Sora keeps it held in place. Riku still isn’t looking at him, however, and so Sora pulls himself up until he is sitting thigh-to-thigh with Riku. He still holds his wrist.

“You should want to. You might forgive me, but I don’t.”

But Sora does not move, instead presses himself even closer against Riku until their hips are touching and Riku cannot move his left arm without it touching Sora. He says nothing, simply holds onto Riku’s wrist with one hand ready to peel the glove off if Riku only gives permission.

Riku’s eyes _finally_ look up and lock with Sora’s, and a part of him is floored by the emotions he finds in those sky-blue depths. There is trust, there is belief and hope, and there is a confident love there that prompts Riku to finally smile.

“Fine. You can see it, but don’t you dare start squealing like a girl when you do.” The smile turns into a smirk, and Sora almost _laughs_. It is a touch of the old Riku, a cocksure sarcastic comment to hide the uncertainty he really feels, and Sora grins.

He takes the glove off quickly, eager to finally _see_ the Name on Riku’s wrist, and the breath leaves him in a gasp when he does. Because he can see: it is white and clearly visible even on Riku’s pale skin, and the writing is so undeniably _his_. His chicken-scratch that he had always been embarrassed of, trying to write each letter separately to make sure it is clear, is marked into Riku’s skin like a sign to all that his heart belongs to _Sora_. He traces it with his fingers, feeling a small tingle at the sight of his own Name, but it is nothing like the painful jolt of electricity when they first touched.

“Why did you get so angry, when I got my Name?” Sora asks the question quietly, and Riku turns his head to look at Sora properly. Their faces are only inches apart, but Sora tries to ignore it in favour of _listening_.

“I’ve been a done deal for you for as long as I can remember, Sora. It was _always_ you. But you didn’t come out and _say_ you’d gotten my Name, and I just assumed you had someone else. Someone who wasn’t me.”

Instead of the irritation or anger he half-expects from Sora, all Riku gets is a playful shove into his side as Sora takes his left hand in his right.

“You’re such an asshole, Riku! You should have just _asked_.”

“Watch who you’re calling an asshole, you brat. I can still thrash your ass into next Tuesday.” And Sora giggles, making Riku truly _grin_ at him, before he lets go of Riku to pull his own fingerless glove off. Riku grabs his wrist, still marvelling at how Sora has had _Riku_ burned into his wrist for over three years.

Sora is vaguely aware that some kind of special big Moment is passing between them. The air is heavy, and Sora’s eyes keep flickering down to the pair of lips inches from his own. Their voices have turned to whispers, and Sora is keenly aware of every inch of his body that touches Riku’s. He is about to break it, to lean forward with his eyes slipping closed and _finally_ take Riku’s lips and _kiss_ the man he loves, when-

“I love you.”

Sora blinks, stunned, because he had never imagined in a million years that he could get _that_ out of Riku without some serious work. But there is no hesitation in his face or eyes, no regret or fear that he has said it too soon.

And so Sora surges forward, eager to kiss Riku with a whole lot less sweetness than he had originally planned. But the angle is wrong as he tries to wrap his arms around him, and instead Sora _misses_ and ends up scraping the bridge of Riku’s nose with his lips and two front teeth. He moves with such force that it sends them both toppling over the back of the tree trunk, and Sora’s fall is largely cushioned by Riku’s body. The silver-haired man groans in pain, though there is a laugh in his voice when he speaks.

“Ow, you fucking _twerp!_ Next time give me some kind of warning.” There is no trace of anger in his tone, and Sora laughs as he props himself up with his forearms resting in the sand, one hand close to Riku’s face and the sand-covered tail of his hair.

One hand reaches up to slip around his neck, and Sora finds himself being pulled down into an exhilarating kiss. Riku’s lips are warm beneath his own, and they open quickly and easily when Sora gives them an experimental prod with his tongue. He is being kissed as though it is all Riku has ever asked for; the hand around his neck is joined by a hand pressing onto his chest, trailing down his torso slowly until it slips under the shirt at his back. Sora is too busy trying to stop himself from collapsing onto Riku to do much with his own hands, but one arm budges closer so he can bury his hand into Riku’s hair. He delights, perhaps childishly, at the knowledge that he will mess that ponytail _right_ up.

Sora is the first to pull away, partly to breathe and partly because his pants are becoming more and more uncomfortable, even as Riku’s fingers work their way under the waistline. He leans above Riku, the older man still holding onto him with an unyielding grip, and grins.

“I’m going to say it, and there’s no _way_ you can misunderstand me now. I love you too.”

Riku smiles back at him, feeling the butterflies in his stomach burst, and before Sora can actually react he manages to use his weight and strength to roll them over. The sand is warm beneath Sora’s back, and Riku leans above him with his hair messed up, dripping sand down onto Sora’s chest and neck. Riku presses a feather-light kiss to Sora’s jaw, and then to his throat, before pulling back and laughing.

“You’re such a damned _sap_.”

And Sora smirks, one that would make the Riku of two years ago _proud_ with how confident it is, and he reaches his hands up to grip at Riku _properly_.

“Yeah, you know you love it, asshole.”

And Riku smiles again, a soft smile that only Sora has ever seen, and rarely at that. Sora leans up on his elbows to connect their lips again, and there they stay for the rest of evening, exploring and re-learning the other, the new aspect to their relationship.

And when Kairi arrives at the island an hour later with Selphie, her usual picnic basket and blanket tucked under her arm, she does not even need to look in the direction of the tree to know what is happening. Selphie’s gasp fills her ears, and thankfully she does not actually get to _see_ her two best friends kissing in the sand. 

“I had no idea!” Selphie’s voice is loud, but not loud enough to carry over to the two boys who are so engrossed in each other that Kairi is certain not even a tsunami could distract them. Kairi turns and looks at her in disbelief.

“Really? I think the whole of this world, and the next three over, were expecting it.” And Kairi leads her friend away from the decking, instead heading over to the small shack tucked away against the hill. Kairi unlocks the door and leaves the blanket and the picnic basket in the centre of the room. She leaves the glass bottle, the one that had turned up on the shore thirty minutes earlier, behind the door, where she is sure it will not be seen until morning.

She smiles. King Mickey’s message can wait: for now, her friends deserve a few hours of happiness.


End file.
